


A kiss...

by Wrathofscribbles



Series: Kisses... [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 18:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16143176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: ... on a scar





	A kiss...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlecakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecakes/gifts).



> **Big bold reminder that Final Fantasy XV and all of its content is property of Square Enix.** I just like to play in the sandpit they've created for the fans.
> 
> If this looks familiar to you, that's because it is. This used to be part of a multi-chapter pain-in-my ass, but I've decided to take that down and make every chapter a standalone oneshot. Apologies for any confusion caused.
> 
> Prompts are from [this list](https://wrathofscribbles.tumblr.com/post/177169224758/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-i-will-write-a).

“Are they okay?”  A quiet murmur, so much so that Gladio would have missed it had he been making use of the tiny cube of a radio he’d stolen from the kitchen, but he’s not and he didn’t.  There’s no good news to hear from any corner of Eos, except, perhaps, right here in Caem with Noctis recovered from Izunia’s clutches, both he and Ignis _alive_ , if burned and bruised and bloodied worse than he’s ever seen them before.

A quiet murmur that draws his gaze from where it’s been boring holes into the rug, a threadbare thing he reckons might once have been an attempt at mimicking the sea, to Prompto in the doorway, clad only in a pair of boxers and scrubbing a towel over his hair.  To the weary droop of his shoulders and the shadows under his eyes, the abysmal posture sure to murder his spine and the barest flicker of a smile, there and away again faster than Gladio can blink.

_Something’s not right._

“Yeah, they’re resting up for now,” he says after a moment, straightening up from his slouch and holding his arms out in an invitation as much for his own benefit as it is his boyfriend’s.  They haven’t had time to themselves since - Altissia and losing Iggy, Izunia’s ambush on the train and the whole _shitshow_  in Zegnatus.  They haven’t had time to stop for a breather and take their eyes off the road, sit down and sprawl out together and just _be_.

There’s that smile again, tugging at a corner of Prompto’s mouth and offering a glimpse of teeth as he tosses the towel aside and crosses the distance with the heavy tread of someone past the point of exhaustion -

_Something’s not right_.

\- and his skin is warm under Gladio’s hands, still a bit damp from the shower, palms on the sharp jut of his hipbones and fingers pressing in _just so_  to bring him closer, encourage him to settle with knees on either side of him, weight settled squarely on his thighs.

“Gave ‘em a couple of potions.  Cor’s keeping watch for any changes.”

“Sounds like the perfect chance to catch some z’s.”  Prompto replies, and he _groans_ in agreement.  They’re all under the same roof, the industrial strength lights provide some measure of safety from daemons spawning too close for comfort, there’s been hot food and a hot shower, there _is_ a hot boyfriend, soft bed, and  _clean sheets_.  Every creature comfort he could possibly ask for and yet.

And _yet_.

He tips his head back for Prompto’s kiss, an exchange of silent reassurances ( _I’m here, I missed you, I’m okay, we’re safe_ ) and affection grown and tended over the years, a slow and sweet thing he’d feared never having again while tearing through MTs and daemons and seeing Prompto dead or dying in every goddamn corner of that Keep.  Flops back at the insistent press against his shoulders so that Prompto can stretch out over him, shuffling around this way and that until he’s situated chest to chest, mouth to mouth, clever fingers walking along Gladio’s forearms with _intent_ -

_Something’s not right_.

“Wait, hold up a minute,” he says, catches those fingers with his own, opens his eyes again to find Prompto’s darting away, lip between his teeth, uncertainty _stifling_  between them all at once.  He tugs on his right hand, feels Prompto go _still_ and silent above him, not even breathing, and turns it one way, then the other, slowly and gently.

_There’s a fresh mark there_.  Right over the barcode he’d originally pegged as a tattoo.  He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t have to, knows Prompto can tell what question waits on his tongue.

“I can’t be like them Gladio.”  A whisper, broken thing that it is, as Prompto twists his head aside to avoid the the stare, shies away from it, weight shifting as he tries to gain a distance Gladio won’t - _can’t_ \- allow.  Not yet, not with this.

“You’re not.”

“But -”

_“You’re not!”_ Fierce, sincere, face arranging into a scowl that Prompto would ever _think_ otherwise.  A tug from the trapped hand, an attempt at escape, and he brings the wrist to his mouth instead, laying as tender a kiss as he can manage over the scar there, livid and fresh and _wrong_.  “You never were, and no obsolete inkstain gets to say otherwise.  You hear me?”

“Gladio…”

_“You hear me?”_

“… I hear you.”

Hearing isn’t believing.  _But_ , he thinks as he finally lets go and tugs Prompto into a hug instead, _it’s a start._


End file.
